When in doubt, make pizza. And make it from scratch, otherwise it doesn’t count in the greater scheme of things. I mean, anybody can squeeze pizza sauce out of a plastic bottle, or chop onions, red pepper, mushrooms, green and black olives, and even spinach. There is to be sure a certain, patient skill to grating pizza mozzarella and even crumbling feta cheese on top. Oh, and yes, a sprinkling of Oregano.
But nothing compares to the simple satisfaction that comes from making your own dough; even when one finds oneself short of unbleached white flour, and then even whole wheat. So what does one do?
Well, if one is me, I spruce up my courage, decide to throw all caution to the winds, and reach into the cupboard for that bag of dark rye flour that’s been in there for too long anyway and add it to the dough mix. Will it rise sufficiently, or will it be a disaster?
Push on, Phil, I tell myself, push on, be not afraid: all shall be well.
And so it was, as you can see.
My two young young friends currently keeping me company were again complimentary, and deservedly so, if I dare say so myself: the unusual dark-rye pizza crust came out of the oven looking rustic and real. And, Svenja observed, with a tasty hint of sweetness. Not too much, but enough to pleasantly noticeable.
Making my own bread and pizza-from-scratch is one of the ways I find a long moment of happy distraction and relaxation, after several hours of snow-blowing the driveway yet again, this time with a brisk, chill wind from the north. And, for that matter, after a few hours of pandering to my obsession about keeping up with the news of the day.
I think anybody who shares my simple pleasure of baking bread or making pizza pie dough might agree there’s a lot it can tell us about life: keep it basically simple, but don’t be afraid to try something new, to take a risk; and certainly experiment, but try not to lose sight of the basic simplicity. That’s my theory, anyway.
Oh, and as well, listen for that little voice that tells you it’s getting a little tired of the same old, same old, that it’s time for a change, for a breath of fresh air — time to take a walk on the wild side, do something impulsive.
It must be chocolate-swirl cheesecake time.
This post first appeared on Finding Hope Ness | Discovering The Wonder That’s In A Moment, please read the originial post: here